The Beast

Hundreds of the creatures. Cars and buildings ablaze. People screaming. People running. People dying.

Hell on Earth.

‘That’s New York,’ she said.

Click. Another channel, but the footage was almost identical.

‘London.’

Click.

‘I’m... I’m not sure. Somewhere in Japan. Tokyo, maybe?’

It could have been Tokyo, but then again it could have been anywhere. I clicked through half a dozen more channels, but the images were always the same.

‘It happened,’ I gasped. ‘It actually happened.’

I turned back to the window and gazed out. The clouds above the next town were tinged with orange and red. It was already burning. They were destroying everything, just like he’d told me they would.

This was it.

The world was ending.

Armageddon.

And it was all my fault.

woke up screaming. This, of late, was not unusual. The seats beneath me creaked in complaint as I sat upright and tried to shake away the memories of the nightmares before they could fully take hold. No such luck.

The faces of the fiends I’d fought leered at me – vague, half-formed shapes tormenting me from the deepest recesses of my own mind:

Caddie, make-up smeared across her bone-white skin.

The Crowmaster, his empty eye sockets alive with maggots.

Doc Mortis, scalpel in hand, blood spattered across his filthy white coat.

Other images, too. The blubbery remains of the dead man on the train; Marion’s flesh-stripped skeleton; my mum, unconscious on a hospital bed.

For a long time I’d tried to resist them, to fill my brain with other thoughts until there was no room left for monsters and horror. It never worked. If anything, it just prolonged the whole ordeal. I’d eventually learned not to fight them, to let them wash over me instead, paying them as little attention as possible.

So there, in the darkness, I closed my eyes, sat still, pulled the collar of my stolen coat tighter around my neck, and let the monsters do their worst.

Several minutes later, I blinked my eyes open. I spent a few more seconds steadying my breath, watching it roll from my mouth as shaky white clouds. Only then did I begin to pay attention to my surroundings.

It was dark, but then it was January and it was early. I never slept late any more. I was on the back seat of a bus that was parked up at the depot. We’d been sleeping here for the last few nights. Not the same bus every time, but the same depot, sneaking through a hole in the fence long after the place had been locked up for the night.

We took it in turns sleeping on the back seat. It was a padded bench, designed to take five or six passengers. This made it much longer than the other seats, and so more comfortable to sleep on. Not comfortable, but more comfortable.

Last night had been my night up the back, so tonight I’d be on one of the two-seaters. I was dreading it already.

‘Ameena.’

Her name came out as a whisper of white mist. Sometimes, my early-morning screaming fit would wake her up, but more and more often these days she was able to sleep through it. Maybe she was getting used to it, or maybe she was just too tired to respond. Either way, she hadn’t reacted this morning.

‘Ameena,’ I said again, louder this time. It was too early for anyone to be at the depot, but there was still part of me that was too afraid to talk at normal volume, in case it attracted attention. Ameena had laughed when I’d told her that. Everything we’d been through, and I was scared of a telling off from a bus driver.

I didn’t want to risk raising my voice any more, so I took hold of the cold metal handle on the back of the seat in front and leaned over it.

‘Ameena?’

No. Not Ameena. Not anyone.

I looked to the seat across the aisle. Empty. I looked along the aisle itself, squinting through the gloom. No shape curled up on the floor. No legs stretched out across the gap. No signs of life anywhere.

I’d woken up alone. This was very unusual.

We’d been on the run for two weeks. Well, technically I’d been on the run, and Ameena had just been keeping me company. The police thought I’d killed my mum’s cousin. They also thought I’d attacked my mum, beating her so violently she’d been left in a coma, barely clinging to life.

I hadn’t done either of them. But I’d confessed to both.

Long story.

I’d had to fake taking Ameena hostage to get past the police at the hospital. Amazingly, it had worked, and we’d managed to get away without being caught.

For days afterwards, our faces were all over the newspapers. The TV too, probably, although I hadn’t exactly had time to tune in. We’d kept moving, never settling in one place for long, sleeping in alleyways and in doorways and, on one particularly stormy night, a bus shelter.

It was the bus shelter that had given Ameena the idea of finding the bus depot. We’d been spending the night there ever since, going to sleep together every night, and waking up together every morning.

Until today.

‘Ameena.’

I said her name again, more for the comfort of hearing it spoken out loud than anything else. She wasn’t on the bus, and that raised one very obvious question: where was she?

The windows were thick with frost, making it impossible to see anything but the hazy glow of the streetlights on the pavement beyond the depot fence. There was nothing else for it. If Ameena wasn’t on the bus, I’d have to go out and find her.

Go outside.

In the dark.

Alone.

Recent events told me this probably wasn’t a great idea, but what choice did I have? Had I been the one missing, Ameena wouldn’t hesitate before coming to find me. I owed her the same, at least.

I headed for the door, checking each row of seats, hoping I’d find her curled up on one of them, snoring softly. By the time I made it to the front, all my hopes were dashed.

She was out there somewhere, and I had no idea where or why. I pulled my coat tighter, took a steadying breath, and reached for the door.